Forgive and Forget
by TanuKyle
Summary: And the only way he could deal was to not remember. It took seven days of bringing a box of ramen and introducing himself before the boy remembered his name. It took many more before he remembered anything else.  Eventual Iruka/Kakashi
1. Teastains

It takes seven days of turning up, introducing himself, and giving the boy a box of ramen before he remembers his name. It takes many more before he remembers anything else.

The Sandaime looks old. Logically, Iruka knows he has always been aged, but now he looks tired…worn. Something is preying on his mind, and even before he asks, the chuunin is ready to do anything for him, because the Sandaime is the best leader this village has ever had. Iruka appreciates the Yondaime for his sacrifice. He thanks the Shodaime and Nidaime for setting up and causing it to prosper…but they just don't compare. The Yondaime was a fierce warrior, and a bright spark – but he was always caught up in something bigger, something brighter, but the Sandaime? He was..there. A comforting, steady presence. Whether you were an ANBU member, or a war orphan with a new scar across your nose and a whole new set of issues, he was always happy to listen. To give support. To have tea with you every week, even though he was the Hokage and had a thousand things to do.

"Iruka-kun."

Some of his worry must have shown on his face, because the Sandaime is smiling and offering him a cup of tea that is always steaming, even though there's no sign of a teapot anywhere – he has the fleeting thought that perhaps he has a specific Tea-ANBU, and stifles a smile. He sits down, sipping the tea quietly, but his curiousity is still as obvious on his face as the hurt used to be – at least to the man on the other side of the desk, and the elder chuckles.

Iruka looks up curiously, battling with indignation – a slight red flush colours the top of his cheekbones. He wishes, for more than the first time, that he inherited the deeper blood vessels as well as the darker skin from his heritage.

"Sandaime-sama?"

They could talk for a while, but they both know this isn't a social visit – Iruka has been pulled out of duty for this, which means it's important.

"You are a good teacher, Iruka-kun."

Iruka's flush becomes more prominent, and a smile plays around his face – it is the exact same expression he gets whenever the Sandaime compliments him, the same expression he sees on his students when their parents compliment them.

"Because you connect with your students. Because to you they are people."

Hiruzen runs a hand through his greying hair, and eyes Iruka.

"What I am about to tell you must not be repeated….ever. Some of it is for your mission, approved by the council – but most of it is not. Most of it has been locked, forbidden, hidden. But I am going to tell you anyway, because I trust you….and he needs you."

If it had been anyone else, Iruka would have been battling with emotions. He would have been torn – but this is Sandaime and he trusts him. He trusts Sandaime more than he trusts anybody else in the world

"When the Kyuubi attacked, you were told it was destroyed. Told that through the life of Yondaime-kun, it was dispersed."

Iruka nodded. Everybody knew.

"That was a lie." He didn't pause, didn't allow Iruka a single second to process or make assumptions, before continuing.  
>"The Kyuubi is a creature built purely of chakra. Even if the physical body was destroyed, it would simply rebuild. It would take a long time, yes. But it would remember. If we had allowed that to happen, Konoha would have signed it's own death warrant. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not ten years, maybe not a hundred."<p>

He paused this time, meeting Iruka's gaze with eyes that are as sharp as a kunai.

"But it would happen all the same."

Iruka is a teacher for many reasons. None of them are because he isn't a good ninja.

As he is told the village has lied to everyone, as he is told the Kyuubi cannot be destroyed, his mind, usually ahum with many thoughts, settles like a pool of still, crystal-clear water. He remembers, vaguely, telling his mother about it, once, when he was in school. A student was angry, he couldn't remember why, and he came at Iruka with a kunai covered in unstable chakra. It if had touched him, it'd have burned him. If, as intended, it'd slammed through his stomach, he'd probably be dead.

And Iruka, Iruka the studious kid at the back of the class who was average in everything never excelling or failing, never noticeable, disarmed him, dispersed the chakra into the ground and knocked him out before any harm could happen. The teacher had talked to Iruka, then his parents, and later his mother had come in, smoothing his hair from his forehead and they'd talked about it. Iruka had struggled to describe what had happened.

"I just knew." He had said, twisting his hands in his lap.

"It was like everything settled at that moment, like-"

"Like still, clear, water."

And Iruka's chocolate-brown eyes looked upon his mother's ice-blue, and nodded, enfolding himself in her arms as she sung him one of the songs of his homeland.

This time, there's no enemies, no danger, but Iruka connects the dots. The Yondaime had disappeared. The Yondaime was an expert on sealing. Seals work on the principle of exchange. And Iruka exhales and speaks.

"He sealed Kyuubi."

The Sandaime shut his eyes and nods, then looks at Iruka.

"He sealed Kyuubi."

The next obvious question is where, but somehow Iruka knows that's going to be answered, going to be told to him.

"He sealed Kyuubi in a newborn child."

Iruka sips his tea, blowing the remaining wisps of steam away. He cannot bring himself to look at the Sandaime. He doesn't know what to think.

"…Who else knows?"

Sandaime's face pinches and he throws a file over the desk. Iruka sees a blond-haired child, no more than six months. His chubby cheeks are marred with six heavy scars that almost resemble…whiskers? He's in a crib, face screwed up in a enthusiastic smile, and tiny hands reaching towards the camera. A tiny date-mark in the corner marks it as six months and three days after Kyuubi. It's an old photo.

He turns the page and pales. It is the same child, there's no denying that, the slightly-dark skin, blonde hair, longer now but still tufty like a ducklings, but his eyes are dead sockets in a ashen face. Iruka doesn't want to look at the extent of the medical report, but he can't stop himself seeing the boy's stick thin ribs as his hand rummages through a trashcan, or the deadened eyes as he is examined in the next photos. Hand-printed notes in the margins say too much in too little words. His hand wobbles on the corner of the page. He doesn't want to see the datemark.

The Sandaime's hands wrap round Iruka's, taking the folio and pushing the same cup of tea into his hands. Iruka sips it out of reflex more than conscious thought.

"That was taken six months ago. I got weekly reports saying he was fine, saying he was a bright, clever child, occasionally asking for advice, or for supplies."

The Sandaime's face crinkles with pain.

"I learn that they kept him in a small room for three years in chicken-bedding. I learn that the only time they touched him was to inflict pain. I learn that I failed."

Iruka learns that civilians are capable of worse acts then ninjas.

"He has been through therapy. The memories have been locked and trapped away by the Yamanaka Clan. But now…now he can't remember anything. They say it's a coping mechanism, that if they try and stop him he'll be worse than before. But I failed him, and the council is wrecking the village around me. The Uchiha are planning something. I wish I had time, but I don't. And now we come to the crux. Iruka, I trust you, and I'm asking you to trust me and help this boy."

Iruka took a deep breath, and formed the last hand-sign, body changing into what was rapidly becoming almost a familiar shape as his own. It had been strange at first, the contours of his body changing so strangely, and feeling the change. It wasn't like a cloaking jutsu or an illusion – his body was actually changing into a completely different shape. Today was Day 45. He marked each day down in a diary for this purpose, recording everything they did, and everything Naruto remembered. Fluffing his hair, he adopted his Aito-san persona – not that it was too much different than the actual Iruka, save for body movements, posture, and a complete lack of any hostility. Okay, maybe it was very different physically. But…he found himself being himself more than he intended to.

He entered into the building where Naruto waited. He'd stopped flinching every time he heard the door now, so that was a good thing. He still hid, though. Iruka moved forward, calling softly in his moderated voice.

"Naruto-kun?"

There was no response, and Iruka began to worry. What if he'd forgotten again? They'd been doing so well...He didn't let any of the tension show in his body, but he moved further into the first room. The door was open to the garden. Well…it wasn't outside, but it was full of plants and grass and a few trees. He passed through the door, biting his lip.

"Aitoooooooo-senseeeeeeeiiii~" The call came loud and clear. Iruka turned slowly, reminding himself he was Aito the civilian, not Iruka the shinobi, and was tackled by a semi-naked pile of babbling boy.

"Aito-sensei, Aito-sensei, LOOK!"

Overlooking the fact he'd forgotten clothes again, he smiled. He was still remembering his name, and he was voluntarily touching him still. The other day he'd come back to find him skirting around. Today was a good day.

"Yes, Naruto-kun?"

The bright-eyed boy carefully opened his hands to reveal a beautiful butterfly. The currently blonde-haired chuunin silently blessed whatever ANBU had introduced it into the enclosure and spoke to Naruto about it, because Naruto was telling him a whole list of facts and information about the butterfly itself, about bugs in general….'Aito-sensei' smiled, hugging Naruto and praising him.

"You certainly know a lot about insects, Naruto-kun."

Naruto grinned up at his sensei.

"Yup! One of the masked-people gave me a book, and then I remembered that you helped me with letters, but it was really hard, so then another masked person helped me read it. It was fun, but then I got so excited I fell in the pond chasing a bug and got wet so I had to take my clothes off."

Iruka laughed, both in relief and in joy, and swung the boy onto his hip.

"Well, let's go find you some dry garments, shall we?"

The boy nodded, resting his head on Iruka's chest, and smiling. The two blondes walked sedately through the garden, a single blue butterfly spiralling lazily upwards to the artificial sun.


	2. Tearstains

Iruka stretched, catlike, popping his spine with pleasure before his memories of the last week came crashing back. Deadened eyes looked at the ceiling. He'd cried his tears already. Swift, hot and in the middle of battle, a rare combat mission he had been assigned.

How could it have happened?

….How could Sarutobi have LET it happen?

He clenched his hand, pressed it to his eyes and took a deep breath.

He had to concentrate. He needed to get to the meeting. Maybe he could stop this after all.

So he swung his limbs out of bed and supressed a groan as he saw the time. Stripping his sleeping clothes off, he yelped as he banged his elbow on the way to the shower. Gritting his teeth against the pain (because no matter how many injuries you'd had on missions, a stubbed toe (or elbow) still .hell.) he grabbed a towel out of the closet and flung it over the rail, before taking the quickest shower ever known to that bathroom. (And considering he was a chuunin who taught classes and did desk duty and naruto's Aiko-sensei on the side, it was pretty damn quick.) Barely a few minutes later, he twisted the towel into keeping his hair up ( Being friends with Anko had a few benefits – learning some girly things that happened to be useful were just a few of them.) and flicked the last of the water off his limbs before pulling his clothes on, checking them carefully first (He didn't put it above his students to use a time-delay). The clothes were fine but his chuunin vest had some kind of trap in the pocket (Sensing Jutsu were almost as required for ANBU as they were to be a teacher), and he didn't have time to disarm it, so he left it hung on the back of the chair and grabbed a new one from the closet. (It was identical, even had the same things in – his mornings were always last-minute, but his afternoons left plenty of time to sort things.)

He was half-way out the door before he remembered the towel on his head. A tomato-red blush bloomed on his cheeks as he ducked back in, hooking it on the back of the door and grabbing a hair tie from the pot on the hall table, shaking some paperclips loose from it first. He tucked his hair up into a ponytail and cast a quick jutsu (another find of Anko's: It gave his hair the same split ends though.), the ponytail flaring into spikes – but dry spikes, free of the dripping wetness that would have made him totally unpresentable.

Ready, finally, Iruka locked his apartment door and set off along the street. The rooftops would be faster, but Iruka didn't like reminding his students parents (particularly those who were civilians) that he was too much of an active ninja. So he walked briskly to the Hokage's tower – at 6am, there were very few people about save for stallholders setting up for the new day as the last ninja who were coming back from missions tended to peter out at around three or four, and most of those going out were either gone by five, or going later.

Reaching the doors, Iruka nodded politely at the ANBU. They were still on edge. It was difficult not to be. He'd noticed that the clan students had been particularly edgy this week. And Naruto had been forgetting things(people), re-introducing himself. They'd passed it off as him being weird, but Iruka had noticed his confusion. It'd passed after the first few days, but it was still worrying.

Sarutobi's voice called him in.

He entered, then blinked as another ninja sat upon the chair – if sat was used in the loosest sense of the word that is. Perch, perhaps, because the ninja (Hatake Kakashi, Iruka noticed absently; He turned in some of the worst mission reports.) looked ready to flee at a moment's notice. Even more tightly-wound than the ANBU outside.

The chuunin smiled at him and then cast a questioning glance at Sarutobi.

"Iruka, would you care for some tea?

Taking the cup (He takes note of the temperature;cold – perhaps the Tea-ANBU is busy today – he won't let it be an omen to the state of affairs), Iruka sipped it lightly, and sat down. The nerves of the other ninja fray on his, but it doesn't set him aflutter. The tensions of the other teachers are often worse, especially now, around exam time.

They have a short discussion about inconsequential things, that later Iruka won't remember because the memory is overlayed with blue-red rage. They discuss students, and Iruka gleans that what Sarutobi wants is him to drop hints on how to deal with them. He does. Frequently. Hatake leaves and Iruka starts to do so when Sarutobi tells him he can't see Naruto anymore.

Iruka pauses, then turns. He gives Sarutobi time to explain. When he does Iruka smiles politely, thin-lipped. Anybody who knows Iruka would be backing away. When he leaves the office with a polite click of the door, Sarutobi smiles. The council might be able to stop the mission, remove Aiko-sensei from the books, declare him killed in action – but they can't stop Iruka. And Iruka, quiet Iruka who all the students love, who nobody can be mean to, Iruka who will never rise above Chuunin because he knows too many village secrets – well.

If Sarutobi had to bet on it (he supresses a pang of pain about an old student), he thinks even Tsunade would win if she bet on Iruka.

Iruka is perhaps the best example of inner fire he has ever seen, whether he hails from here or not.


End file.
